"It _is_ difficult," said Mr. Bensington, "to form any plan--certainly."
He removed his glasses and wiped them carefully.
"It is another instance," he generalised, "of the thing that is continually happening. We--if indeed I may presume to the adjective--_scientific_ men--we work of course always for a theoretical result--a purely theoretical result. But, incidentally, we do set forces in operation--_new_ forces. We mustn't control them--and nobody else _can_. Practically, Redwood, the thing is out of our hands. _We_ supply the material--"
"And they," said Redwood, turning to the window, "get the experience."
"So far as this trouble down in Kent goes I am not disposed to worry further."
"Unless they worry us."
"Exactly. And if they like to muddle about with solicitors and pettifoggers and legal obstructions and weighty considerations of the tomfool order, until they have got a number of new gigantic species of vermin well established--Things always _have_ been in a muddle, Redwood."
Redwood traced a twisted, tangled line in the air.
"And our real interest lies at present with your boy."
Redwood turned about and came and stared at his collaborator.
"What do you think of him, Bensington? You can look at this business with a greater detachment than I can. What am I to do about him?"
